


Blackshear Butte

by barbarosabee



Series: Wander the Fires [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan and his trusty steed Calliope, Arthur Whump, Blood, Broken Bones, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Horse Adventures, Hurt/Comfort, Man vs nature, No Spoilers, Slight Horror Elements, Whump, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 00:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18376856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbarosabee/pseuds/barbarosabee
Summary: Overhearing talk of some black beast in the hills, Arthur decides to see for himself if it's worth the hunt. Things do not go well, as they never seem to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a sucker for “hunting accident gone wrong” stories so here’s my totally original hot take on the trope. 
> 
> Blackshear Butte and Mill Plains are not real places in the game (to my knowledge, I haven't finished it).
> 
> Tried to make this a standalone/oneshot but mentioned too many things from the previous story, so please go check that one out.

Mill Plains could’ve been Valentine, for all the same the two looked. Only difference was Mill Plains didn’t smell like sheep shit.

Arthur dumped the buck on the butcher’s table careful as he could, slick as it was with rain. The downpour hit him just outside town, skies clear as anything the whole time he was out stalking the buck. Too focused on the hunt to see the clouds making their lazy descent from the western mountains.

“Good clean kill there, sir.” The butcher handed him a roll of bills. Arthur dug out a few other pieces of game he didn’t need.

“ ‘ppreciate it, lightens my load.”

“Anytime, sir.”

Arthur nearly walked into the man who’d stood too close behind him, waiting his turn for the butcher. The man stepped sideways with a mumbled apology. Calliope had wandered a bit away, tucked up against the side of a building trying to keep the water from her eyes. Arthur brushed her mane out of her face and idly adjusted his saddle and thought about what to do next. Could head back to camp, could head to the saloon and see if he got any leads. Hadn’t been bringing in much since the fiasco that got him Calliope.

“You’re full of shit, Johnson.”

“Swear! Black panther big as a bear and eyes like a demon!”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at the butcher and the other man. He had his arms spread wide; the butcher eyed him with great skepticism. “You said the same thing about that pig last month. Ain’t no such thing as _black_ panthers.”

“I did not. I’m tellin’ the truth! Damn thing nearly got me! Look—” he showed the butcher something Arthur couldn’t see. The butcher laughed, loud and cruel.

“That little scratch? Just take your money and leave, Johnson, go back to disappointing your wife.”

Johnson slammed something on the table. “Just you wait till I come back with it dead.”

“Alright, see you around.”

Johnson stomped down the muddy road towards the saloon. Arthur gave it a moment before quietly following him. Calliope did not care for the way the mud sucked at her hooves. Arthur kept one hand on her neck as they slogged through the street. The rain finally let up as he slid from her back and offered her a peppermint for her troubles.

“Stay here girl, won’t be long.”

She nosed into his jacket, around his side, trying to find the treats. He’d had to get clever about hiding them, made sure never to take them out in her line of sight. Hoped he could keep her thinking they just magically appeared in his hand. Damn horse had found the camp stash of vegetables once, devoured them all in one sitting, and spent the rest of the day laid on her side, moaning. Arthur had no sympathies for her and had to take a wagon into town to replenish the stock from his own wallet.

Arthur hitched the reins to the post and went into the saloon.

Johnson was easy to find. Leaned up against the bar gabbing at anyone within earshot. Two men seemed vaguely interested in what he had to say, like maybe they knew him.

“. . .out by Blackshear Butte, I swear!”

The bartender didn’t look up from cleaning his glass. “That where you been? Wife came in looking for you yesterday, Danny, you should go home to her.”

“Not til someone believes me!”

Arthur leaned at the other end of the bar and signaled for a whiskey. One of the other men sighed. “No one wants to hear your stories, go home to your wife and make her suffer through it.”

Arthur knocked back his whiskey and cleared his throat. “ ‘scuse me, gentlemen, you say something about a panther?”

Johnson whirled on him. The two men muttered good luck and wandered over to a game of blackjack in the corner. The bartender went back to cleaning glasses.

“You ever been out near Blackshear Butte, mister?” Johnson slid closer. Brown eyes wide and earnest.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well it’s down past the river, can’t miss it across the plain, shoots right up real high. Forest on the other side—”

“This don’t sound like it’s about a _panther_.”

“Oh, oh, right, sorry mister. Anyways I was up there, got a little spot I trap rabbits, big warren up there, traps are always full—”

“I still ain’t heard nothin’ about this cat.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, well I was up there gettin’ my traps back, only they wasn’t full. Something ett ‘em all. Weren’t nothing left but legs, ground all tore up and bloody. Never seen anything like it, no one else goes up there.”

“Mister, I’m startin’ to understand why you don’t have many friends round here. I ain’t got time to sit here all day listenin’ to nonsense.” Arthur moved like he was ready to walk away.

Johnson grabbed him by the elbow, released it when Arthur shot him a look. “Right, right, right, so I’m followin’ my string and my horse starts gettin real worried, fore I know it this giant black cat comes runnin’ out of the bushes! Black as night, eyes red like coals. Swiped at me, see?” He lifted his shirt. Arthur squinted.

“Don’t see anything.”

“Right here! Look!” The man pointed low on his stomach, past his navel. A tiny red line, maybe as long as a finger.

Arthur snorted. “You expect me to believe you saw some big black panther and only came away with _that_ little scratch? How come you ain’t _dead_?”

“My wife asks that a lot, mister.” Johnson dropped his shirt. “I swear, it’s true though.”

“Never heard of a black panther before.”

“Neither have I! I didn’t rightly know what it was til I was run screaming with Rose back down the Butte. My horse, Rose, not my wife.”

“You named your horse after your wife?”

“Had the horse first.”

Arthur waved a dismissive hand and started to walk away. “Ah, ain’t none of my business. Take good care of that wound, mister!”

Johnson called something after him. Arthur ignored it. Considered things. The man seemed prone to tall tales, from the way everyone around him reacted to the story. Probably too ashamed of empty traps to just tell the truth, sounded like he was an all around disappointment. Arthur felt a little bad. The man probably had a very boring life. Arthur’d seen people do some downright weird things when they were displeased with their lot, or their spouses. Making up some story about a huge predator was tame compared to some of the things he’d seen.

Calliope made noises at him when he emerged. He gave her another peppermint, was probably spoiling her, but she still spooked in towns too easy. Lucky a wagon hadn’t gone by while he was inside.

Arthur thought back to the first time she’d been near a train. Girl fought a cougar and won, but a train whistle scared her stupid. Arthur had returned to the town that evening, Calliope safely hitched in the woods a half mile away, and apologized to the people she’d knocked over. Smoothed things out with a round of drinks. Charles had been very amused by the story.

The rain started up again. Clouds darkened the sky, but there were enough hours left before dark Arthur felt he could strike out again. Sounded like the Butte wasn’t too far, couldn’t be if someone was willing to go there just to trap rabbits.

“Let’s go, girl.”

 

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

Arthur allowed himself a moment to appreciate the view. Dry plains stretched far out towards a river, swallowed by the dusty haze of distance. He’d crossed it early that morning after tearing down camp. Calliope had complained and tossed her head as the water reached her belly. He thought he felt her stomp a few fish, but she lunged away from the river before he could check.

Still breaking her in. Calliope liked him well enough, but he knew the wild would never quite leave her. Figured a long hunting trip might help her settle and listen to him better. She did fine in camp, but soon as they got too close into a town she started to spook. Something about wagons set her off.

Calliope bumped Arthur’s shoulder. Absently, he laid a hand on her neck, drew deep on the warm air at the base of the butte. Hadn’t seen much game since leaving the river.

The ruddy rock jutted up in a straight wall a hundred feet tall and enough miles wide that it stretched to the horizon. Arthur thought maybe he could see the end, probably not more than a few hours’ ride. The rest of the land rose gradually behind the steep butte, looked like it turned back into mountains farther out. Couldn’t see much green, but the rock obscured everything except the distant mountains. Not the biggest or most impressive piece of rock he’d seen, but Arthur supposed it was impressive to people in a town as little as Mill Plains. Could’ve made it there in a day if he’d set out in the early morning.

Low scrub dotted the pale ground between the butte and the river. A few large birds circled overhead, too far for Arthur to tell what they were, looked like vultures. Heat shimmered. No wind. Saw what might be some deer or pronghorn, not close enough to shoot.

Arthur turned back to the butte. Weren’t fool enough to even try climbing it a little. If there was forest on the other side as the man had claimed, all Arthur had to do was ride along the side until the rock sloped back down.

He nudged Calliope into a trot, close to the wall to keep in the shade. Her hide blended in, covered in dust as she was. Hadn’t been riding hard but the heat had picked up and lather dripped from beneath the saddle. Arthur felt it dampen his calves. She’d need a good and thorough brush down, after this. Hopefully he could find some water for her by the end of the day. She’d drunk her fill at the river; Arthur’s canteen was full, but he wanted to ration it. Would empty it for Calliope first if he had to.

But if there were rabbits as plentiful as Johnson claimed, they’d have to have a good water source near their warren. Arthur wasn’t too worried.

The butte finally crumbled into the plains. Arthur slowed Calliope to a walk, dismounted to inspect the best way to the top. Almost looked like there were steps, steps built for a giant—not a clear path a horse could manage, but he could hoist himself up the ledges. They went about halfway before turning into a gentler slope. As Johnson described, there were a fair number of trees. Nothing near what Arthur would call a forest, but it looked enough to keep rabbits going. Further to the right, the dry plains stretched on and on.

Didn’t think he wanted to risk getting Calliope up there. Arthur dismounted and led her over to the deepening shade of the butte. Undid the saddle, removed the blanket, started brushing her down. Dumped some hay and apples in front of her to keep her busy. Checked her hooves. Rubbed her down until there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen.

Wild as she was, Arthur sometimes hated tying her up. With Nero, all he’d had to do was toss the reins around the tree and the Tennessee Walker was content to sleep through the night. Calliope. . . . Calliope was a little shit. Chewed through two sets of tack before Arthur finally figured out she just wanted to sleep next to him, or graze. If he had to leave her for more than an hour, everything came off and he slipped a loose rope around her neck, tied to an old railroad spike he drove into the ground. She could probably slip free of it, if she yanked hard, but the tug on her neck seemed enough to keep her in place.

Arthur got to work with the setup. Calliope was hot enough not to fuss much, soothed by the food and the long brushing. The sun had climbed past the lip of the butte, but even in the shade it was hotter than either of them was used to. Arthur tossed his jacket over his saddle where it leaned against the rock, shucked his vest. Rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned the top buttons of his black shirt. Decided just to take one rifle with him; if he was going to be scrambling over rock, he wanted as little weight on his back as possible. Climbing with just the guns on his hips was hard enough.

“Alright girl, just wait here a bit, I’ll be right back.”

He’d hunted “legendary” animals before, but the friendly Canadian trapper had never mentioned anything about a big black cat. Most of the so-called legendary animals Arthur had seen were white, or just especially large. The only big black cat Arthur had ever seen was some kind of tropical panther on a cigarette card.

If this thing was real, he’d have a beautiful pelt to work with. More than likely it didn’t exist, or was a different animal entirely. Probably just some mangy coyote Johnson blew out of proportion for a little excitement.

Arthur hadn’t been to this area before, wasn’t sure exactly what kind of wildlife there was. But he’d been through similar terrain and figured he knew what to expect. The hot, open area didn’t invite much life into it in the first place. Couldn’t be too different here from what he’d seen.

The sun pounded onto his shoulders. Arthur was glad he’d swapped his old hat for a wide-brimmed one before leaving camp, thinner than the worn leather he was used to. Sweat rolled down his neck but the hat kept the skin there from being burned.

He paused halfway up. Couldn’t see Calliope. Girl was probably laid out in the shade, near his saddle. She was obsessed with nibbling his jackets, nibbling just about anything he sweat in, really. She’d even yanked on his satchel once, when he ignored her too long during a conversation with Charles at the edge of camp. Arthur had never known a horse who had such a fondness for chomping.

A cloud of dust across the plain caught Arthur’s eye. He raised his binoculars up to his face and brought the distance into focus. Blinked a few times, not sure he trusted what he saw.

Horses that looked almost exactly like Calliope. Mustangs, couldn’t be anything else with their thick builds and feathered legs. A big yellowish buckskin stallion led the herd. A few were a red-brown similar to Calliope, a bit lighter, no white on their faces. The rest were deep grey like rain-heavy clouds. Arthur could just make out a handful of foals in the middle of the group. He looked down the butte to where he thought Calliope must be, strained to hear if she was agitated at all.

Nothing. He’d be able to see if she played out her lead, he always gave her the full length of his rope.

Arthur tucked the binoculars away and watched the wild mustangs shrink into the distance towards the river until only settling dust was left of them.

Arthur returned his attention to the rock. One more ledge and the rock turned into an easy slope with the beginnings of actual grass. Farther ahead, blocked from his view on the ground, the land gradually turned greener. Young trees dotted where butte turned to hill, growing thicker and darker the farther Arthur looked. An honest-to-god forest, far as he could see until it got interrupted by snowy far-away mountains.

Arthur stumbled the rest of the way up, not realizing how sore his legs were. The air was a lot cooler up here, enough he wished he hadn’t taken off his vest. He could hear songbirds over the pound of his heart. Took a moment to scan the area, tried to suss out where some fool might try to trap rabbits. Walked west, hat pulled low over his eyes while the sun worked its way towards the mountains. Picked up the beginnings of a stream and spotted the prints of small game, undeniably rabbits, raccoons, deer. Fresh, most of them, though the smaller critters were probably hiding during the peak of day. A hawk shrieked from one of the trees, out of sight. Arthur drained his canteen, dumped a little on his neck to cool down. Refilled it and decided to follow the stream.

Followed it for an hour, give or take. It meandered through more clearings, none of them quite as open as Big Valley was, where Calliope’d killed that cougar. Big enough deer comfortably grazed til he startled them. Didn’t bother being quiet, wasn’t keen on the idea of hauling deer down a butte. The trees grew in scattered copses, some kind of skinny deciduous with pale peeling bark. Looked a bit like what he seen around Cumberland, just different enough he could tell they weren’t the same. Knew more about plants he could eat and make cures from, didn’t care much about trees. Just thought they were kinda pretty.

The stream widened. Trees close on either side. Opened up onto a puddle. Arthur wouldn’t call it a pond; the water looked stagnant, covered in slime. Smelled awful.

 _Wait a second. . . ._ Arthur squinted. Weren’t the water that smelled awful—there was some kind of decomposing body on the other side. Dried bulrush crushed in a wide area around it, looked like it’d been broken in a tussle.

Arthur drew the rifle from his back and slowly approached the carcass. It looked old, and he wondered why crows and vultures hadn’t set upon it yet. A buck, a _big_ buck, eight pointer at least. Arthur crouched to get a better look at it.

Thing’s throat was tore up good. Shredded like ground chuck. Long claw marks scored the hide at the shoulders, the flank, the haunches. Didn’t look like a wolf’d done it. Wolf would’ve finished eating it, too, ‘specially if it were in a pack. Not leave it here for a day and let it rot.

Didn’t look like much of the buck was eaten. Something angry had killed it and left.

Something tickled the hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck. He slowly rose from his crouch, readied his gun. A breeze rattled the dead bulrush. Sounded like hollow bones knocking together.

Arthur scanned the area around the pond. Felt eyes on him. Saw nothing. Weren’t a lot of bushes between the scraggly trees, not many places for an animal to hide.

A hawk screamed above him. Arthur jumped. Just managed not to fire.

Still felt eyes on him.

The sweat had cooled on his neck, his back, his chest. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains. Still light out, but getting cooler. He needed to head back to Calliope. Didn’t want to be here anymore, didn’t care to find out what mauled a buck like that and didn’t even bother to eat it. Arthur shivered.

Followed the stream back the way he came, moved farther from it until he couldn’t see it well but kept it to his left. Calliope wouldn’t be able to get to him up here. She would try, he knew, she’d followed him through places horses were not meant to travel, and they’d had some scares. Slid halfway down a mountain one time. Arthur had scolded her, gently, while he rubbed salve into the scrapes on all four of her legs, cooed over the long cut on her belly. Spoiled her near rotten for the week after that.

Arthur stopped to button his shirt and roll down his sleeves. The temperature was drastically different, up here as the sun set, than it had been on the steppes below. He shivered again as the wind shook the trees harder. Had to shove a hand on his head to keep his hat from flying off. He drank deeply from his canteen before moving forward again.

The mountains were higher than they first looked, got darker on the butte faster than he would’ve thought. He’d only walked for an hour or so, thought he had more daylight left but by the way things were looking, he’d be climbing the rocks in near-dark.

A big tree he hadn’t noticed before loomed not too far ahead. It spread wide, like the lone trees in the grassy Heartlands hills. Leaves a deep dark green, stuck thick together despite the turn towards autumn. Arthur stared at it, committed it to memory to draw later. Wanted to just get back to Calliope and back to the river, make camp and amble home the next day.

A large shape fell from the tree just as Arthur started walking again. It landed with a thud and didn’t move.

“The hell?”

Arthur crept forward. Didn’t even think to get his gun up, perplexed. Big things like that didn’t just fall from trees. Would’ve heard a branch break off; weren’t like the wind was strong enough to be ripping limbs that size.

Finally he got close enough to see it was the mangled body of a doe. Arthur edged closer to it.

His foot snapped something and he stumbled, looked down.

A bone.

Arthur’s heart shot into his throat, lips dry, stomach curdled and dropped somewhere near his feet. He looked around the tree. Bones everywhere. Ribs. Skulls. Feathers. Fur. Adrenaline spiked into his fingers, made them numb. Arthur couldn’t hear anything except his heart trying to beat out of his chest.

He looked up into the tree. Eyes like fresh yellow poppies stared back at him, the black face they belonged to nearly lost in the dense foliage as the sun set lower and lower. Setting faster than made sense. Arthur could hardly see anything, nothing, nothing past those glowing unblinking eyes. A mouth opened in the blackness. White fangs and a lolling pink tongue. He couldn’t hear the panther smell the air, couldn’t hear anything. Wouldn’t even have known it was there.

Arthur’s rifle was slung across his back, not just over one shoulder like it should’ve been, _stupid, Morgan_.

The mouth snapped shut. Arthur knew better than to run. Preferred to face death head-on.

He reached for his rifle. The panther reached him first.

It slammed into him. Arthur felt claws sink into his chest, his side, the back feet scrabbling at his legs and tearing his pants open, raked down the thighs. Ripped the top of his boots. Arthur just managed to get an elbow up before it could bite into his throat. Got his forearm, instead. The bones didn’t quite crunch but the pain was too intense for them not to be broken.

Arthur snarled as the panther took them both to the ground. It still had his arm in its mouth, and Arthur’s free hand yanked his knife from his belt and slammed it against the panther’s head. Couldn’t quite manage to get the blade in, thoughts muddled by pain and panic. The panther grunted deep in its throat but released him.

Only for a second but long enough for Arthur to get a leg in its chest and _shove_. The panther rolled but recovered too fast for Arthur to draw either sidearm. Got a foot up in time to intercept the panther’s jaws.

It took the offering, mouth closing around Arthur’s ankle and shaking. He cried out, tossed around, knife flying from his hand and landing somewhere he couldn’t see. The panther suddenly released him and in the second before it could land on his chest, Arthur fumbled the sawed off from his hip and fired both rounds.

Didn’t see where they hit the panther. It yowled in the dirt and Arthur struggled awkwardly backwards one-handed. Got ten feet before the panther was back up.

No time to reload. Arthur yanked the revolver from his other holster and emptied it in the panther’s direction.

The panther slid to a stop next to him. One yellow eye remained, the other blown out by a bullet. Blood gurgled in its throat and a last rancid breath shuddered through its open mouth.

Arthur stared into the dead eye. Part of him not convinced the panther was gone.

Flopped onto his back. Still some daylight left. Everything felt very cold. Sounds and sensations returned to him all in a rush. His arm throbbed in tandem with his heart, pain pulsed all the way down to his fingers. Ankle came next; Arthur rolled it and didn’t bother stifling the cry of pain. Might be broken, too. The boot was a lost cause. Miss Grimshaw would have his ear for how many clothes he kept ruining on his little adventures.

Arthur made a lot of noise as he struggled to stand. He used his rifle as a crutch. Was probably going to ruin the damn thing and need to buy another one, if he made it off this _goddamn butte_. He weren’t bleeding like a stuck pig, but he was bleeding enough. Didn’t think he could stitch one-handed. Didn’t want to think that far ahead. Focused on staying on his feet as he swayed and the world danced around him. Color washed out from everything and he forgot where he was, what he was doing, why he was here.

Forgot his ankle was chewed to all hell and back as he took a step forward. Caught himself by jamming the rifle into the dirt. Arthur reminded himself to breathe. Take better stock of his injuries. Didn’t want to sit, knew he wouldn’t be able to get back up if he did that, and Calliope couldn’t reach him up here. Probably too far away to even hear him call her.

Tried to move the fingers of his left hand. Sharp pain jolted up his arm, all the way up through his shoulder and up his jaw, made him clench his teeth against it. Alright, broken. Couldn’t get a good look at the gouges under his black shirt in the low light, but they didn’t feel too deep. Felt blood cooling along his chest in the breeze, not enough to be worried about just yet. His jeans were tore up but the cuts there were shallow.

Wiggled his toes alright. When he curled them it tugged on something in his ankle that felt all stretched out and loose and _wrong_.

Arthur held his breath and tried again to put weight on it. Whole leg shook and buckled, the rifle the only thing keeping him up. Vision greyed at the edges.

Breathed deep through his nose and tried not to bite his tongue. Gave himself a moment.

Slammed the butt of his rifle into the panther’s head as he limped past it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think y'all'd be here if you couldn't handle it, but just a heads up there's some grossness in this chapter.

Arthur grunted and moaned the whole way down the butte. He’d panted as he staggered away from the tree, from the _fucking panther_ , sure he would collapse before he could make it. Just had to make it to Calliope and everything would be fine. Calliope meant his saddle, his supplies, an escape. Couldn’t think too far ahead for too long, only had the strength to put one foot in front of the other. Arm pressed tight to his torso. Bleeding too much, he knew he was bleeding too much now but he couldn’t stop.

His torn ankle slipped out from beneath him and he fell the last ten feet. Misplaced all the air in his lungs with a scream. Blacked out.

Came awake to Calliope whining, scared, insistent. Could probably smell the predator on him. She’d yanked herself free from the tether, and the rope trailed behind. Weren’t far from the supplies. Arthur tried to move. Weren’t so bad as when his whole rib cage had been battered after the river. Hurt enough black spots bloomed over his eyes and he would’ve fallen back into the dirt had Calliope not grabbed his shirt between her teeth and pulled. It hurt, being dragged over the rough ground, but Arthur didn’t have the strength to stand.

Calliope pulled Arthur all the way to the saddle. Released his shirt in favor of nosing at his face, dragging her lips along his neck, snuffling into his hair. Arthur kept one hand on the side of her head as he waited for the world to stop spinning. Needed to figure out what to do first.

Blood. Stop the blood. His shirt stuck wetly to his skin with it. Wasn’t any warmer at the bottom of the butte, almost felt _colder_. He needed to get a fire going but he wasn’t sure how he was going to do that one-handed.

Arthur dug out his journal and some matches. Gathered what fuel he could from around him without moving, realized in the process that he hadn’t retrieved his knife.

Made a neat pile of sticks and some blank paper torn from his journal. Would have to plan out which wounds to cauterize first; the fire wasn’t going to last long.

Arthur wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he got a clean shirt from his saddlebags. Struggled out of his ruined one for a minute before just ripping it off and tossing it into the wild. Finally got a chance to see the damage. Weren’t as bad as he first thought. The deepest marks crossed over one pectoral, three long gouges and one smaller one where a claw hadn’t quite gotten him all the way. Didn’t think he needed to cauterize the ones at his hip and opted to just bandage those first.

Gave up when he couldn’t manage it one-handed. His left arm refused to cooperate, fingers shaking, the whole thing weak like he hadn’t used it in a year. He’d. . . . figure something out later.

Got ready to close the deeper wounds. Sprinkled gunpowder from cracked open buckshot into the worst of them and then got the fire going. Pulled a flaming stick and touched it to the powder.

Arthur had _seen_ wounds be cauterized, once or twice. Had managed to escape it himself, but never forgot the screaming or the smell of burnt skin. Arthur Morgan was not a religious man, but he had prayed, those few times, that it never happened to him.

Hadn’t prayed hard enough.

He passed out, again, and woke up, again, to Calliope in his face. He’d fallen back against the saddle and was sure he didn’t have the words to describe how he felt. Felt like he was on fire and freezing all at once. Couldn’t feel anything beyond the burning of his chest.

Calliope licked him from chin to brow. Arthur couldn’t help the weak laugh that escaped him. She started chewing on his hair until he pushed at her to stop, no strength to actually push her away but she knew what he was asking.

Arthur remembered the time he’d broken his arm when he was younger, barely known Dutch and Hosea a year. Fell off his horse like an idiot and landed on it wrong. The lecture hurt worse than anything the doctor did to him, the shame burning bright in his cheeks. Couldn’t shoot straight for months afterwards.

Arthur did his best to replicate the splint. He hadn’t thrown his old shirt far, tore it into strips. Found two same-sized sticks he hadn’t managed to burn and snugged them around his arm. Couldn’t tell if it was straight, didn’t _look_ crooked, but he couldn’t care. Wouldn’t be out here long enough for it to heal straight. Town doctor would have to fix it for him.

The fire had died and the moon sat full in the clear sky by the time Arthur got to his ankle. Or tried to. Damn thing had swollen and stuck his boot fast. He could still move his toes, nothing felt numb and he was too exhausted to try working the boot off. His eyes slid shut.

Jolted when Calliope huffed in his face. Arthur sighed and dragged his leg closer. Groaned the whole time, unashamed of the noises he was making, not with no one around to hear. Got him through the task faster.

Once he got the boot off, he knew he wouldn’t be getting it back on. Boot was ruined anyways. Arthur tossed it into his dead fire. The punctures from the bite had gotten deep into the joint. Swollen at least twice the normal size. Bruised black in some places. Arthur splashed some water on it, wrapped it in the remains of his shirt.

Sighed and passed out.

  
  
\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

  


Just as she had almost every day since coming back to him at Horseshoe Overlook, Calliope woke Arthur with insistent tugging to his clothes and hair. Arthur did not stir. She breathed hard into his face. Had to resort to licking him again before he groaned and pushed her away, strong as a day old kitten.

Must’ve been a few hours past dawn. The air had already started to warm up. Whatever clouds had rolled into Mill Plains the day before were nowhere to be seen now, nothing but the sun and the sky. Arthur’s throat was dry, his head hurt, he didn’t want to move.

Had to take a piss, so he had to just figure it out.

After he surmounted that impossible challenge, he had to get the saddle back on Calliope. Was _not_ going to buy another one, goddammit, didn’t want to get ribbed for “being careless with his things” again. Arthur leaned against Calliope and stared at the saddle and its heap of tack. She turned unblinking eyes to him. Unconsciously raised his hand to rub along her blaze. She snuffled into his hand.

“Alright girl, need you to help me a bit.”

Arthur leaned all his weight on her side and hobbled to the saddle. It only took a few gentle presses to her shoulder to get her down on the ground. He’d figure out how to tighten the straps later, focused just on getting the saddle over her back. Got everything in place he could without being able to slide the girth strap beneath her. Pat her neck to encourage her to stand.

The saddle nearly slipped from her, Arthur along with it. They both grunted as he slapped blindly trying to grip her mane.

“Sorry, girl,” he panted. He was sweating a lot more than he should be and realized he hadn’t checked any of his wounds yet for infection. Couldn’t be so lucky this time, he was sure. Felt like shit.

Arthur zeroed in on the task of tightening tack before he lost all his energy. Should probably try to eat something but his mouth and stomach felt sour. Took him long enough getting everything secured that the sun was almost in the middle of the sky, and Arthur hauled onto Calliope’s back without bothering to do anything else to take care of himself.

“Let’s try to get back to town, girl.”

  


\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

  


He’d lost his goddamn hat. Realized it when the sun baked him from above as the fever cooked him from within. Arthur closed his eyes and slumped against his saddle horn. Sweat drenched his shirt, made the splint on his arm loose.

He was going to throw up. He was going to throw up _right now_ and he didn’t know if he could handle it.

Arthur didn’t mean to, but he slipped from Calliope’s back and landed in the dirt with a grunt. Got onto his knees and vomited mostly water. Couldn’t remember the last time he ate. He collapsed sideways, away from his mess, eyes still shut. Mouth tasted like dirt and blood. The rate he was going, he’d be dead before he made it back to Mill Plains, Calliope would probably drag his body there thinking he’d get help like the last time she carried him half-dead into a town. Took ten times longer when he couldn’t stay upright in the saddle.

Calliope stood over him. Used her body to shade him from the midday heat, a foot planted to either side of his head. Arthur reached up to rest his hand on her knee. Reassured by her solid presence. His fingers tangled in the feathering above her hoof. Needed to be detangled again, he could feel snarls and dirt clumps caught in it.

She kept her head up, alert, ears turning every which way. Arthur knew no wagons would be coming by, no roads anywhere all the way out on the steppe. Best chance at seeing another human being would be to get close to the river. No idea how far they were from it. Calliope would get them there, eventually, she had to be thirsty enough by now.

Arthur used Calliope’s leg to pull himself to sitting. She sidestepped and offered her neck for him to use to stand.

“Thanks, girl.”

Calliope did most of the lifting. Arthur pressed his forehead into her as he waited for the dizziness to pass. Peeled his shirt back to inspect the wound on his chest.

Looked about the way he expected. Inflamed, bright red, purple bruises beneath the red and yellow of his burnt skin. Smelled infected. He pressed at an edge and pus and clear fluid leaked from it.

Arthur turned his head, sure he would vomit again. Gagged a few times but nothing came up. He scanned the land. Thought he spotted the river shimmering in the distance.

Got back into the saddle with Calliope’s help and kicked her forward. He lost himself in her canter. Eyes locked on the space between her ears as they swiveled and flicked. Lost track of things to the bobbing of her neck as she ran. Dust carried away from them on the wind.

  
  
  


Arthur came back to the world when Calliope slowed and stopped. Things were reluctant to focus, and he felt her throat working as she drank before he could even see the river.

It didn’t look familiar. No part of this looked familiar. When he blinked away the last of his fuzziness, he saw they weren’t even at the river, rather a clear pool that seemed to burble out from between two cracked rocks. An underground spring, then. Hadn’t heard anyone mention anything about any springs and had enough sense to wonder why the hell he ain’t bought a map when he was in town.

Arthur considered staying at the spring and just praying someone happened upon him in the next twenty-four hours. Knew he could puzzle out a vague direction based on the movement of the sun, but his brain was thick and muddied and he couldn’t make much sense out of anything, not past the hurt and the fever and the burn on his chest.

Calliope’s head shot up and her ears snapped forward. Arthur squinted where she was looking, but he couldn’t see anything. The skin on his head felt tight with sunburn and he didn’t have the strength to raise a hand over his eyes. Was only barely holding onto the reins.

Calliope snorted and stomped her front hooves. Arthur still couldn’t see what had agitated her—if it were a wagon he definitely would’ve seen that, too big to miss. But he saw nothing more than pale ground and clumped bushes and maybe something moving—something pale, paler than the ground or the trees at the top of the butte, shaped like a human but _wrong_. Arthur couldn’t quite figure out why, his instincts unable to push any sense into him through the fever. Only the tiniest part told him he should be afraid of that thing he couldn’t see.

Arthur squinted and leaned forward more. The saddle horn dug into his stomach. Calliope pawed at the ground, more insistent, front legs raising and falling hard. The jolt cleared Arthur’s head, just a smidge. He was able to see more clearly, wished he hadn’t.

The thing stopped and turned to face them. Maybe fifty yards off, Arthur couldn’t tell how big it was, but it looked _big_ , if he could see it so far away. Didn’t make sense how something so pale could be out in the scorch of midday like this. It wasn’t so far off that he couldn’t see the way its mouth gaped an endless black, too open and too long and _wrong wrong wrong_.

The sound reached them a second later. A hard shudder gripped Arthur by the back of the neck and worked its way through his body, clenched his hands and curled his toes and awoke all the pains he’d been too delirious to feel. A sound like a mountain splitting open, a sound like foxes dying, a sound that tore at his heart and made him feel weighed down as if his lungs were filled by wet cement.

Calliope responded with that primal sound she summoned from deep within, the sound Arthur was sure belonged to a god, a force of nature more part of the landscape than the mountains, and shot off away from the creature.

The sound came again. Arthur’s breath stuttered. Thought his heart stopped, but it just squeezed harder, like a fist were around it, bruising. Calliope screamed and put on speed. Every part of Arthur ached and burned and hollered at him not to turn around _don’t look don’t look_ but he looked anyways.

It bounded after them on gangly limbs. Had a stride like a rabbit. Blurred with how fast it went, how fast Calliope galloped. Arthur couldn’t make out more than the wide mouth, blackness where eyes should be, skin white as fresh paper and littered with some kind of striping. Maybe it was words, whatever ancient curse had birthed it etched there forever keeping it alive, because even through the haze of fever Arthur knew this thing wasn’t natural, had no natural place in the world. He’d read plenty about monsters and took no stock in it. No sound in the night couldn’t be explained, and the evilest things that walked the earth were men.

Arthur wanted to look away. Couldn’t look anywhere else but the blackness in the elongated face. Something moved in the depths of the pits where its eyes should be and Arthur felt cold, drowned in the waters of a frozen lake and crushed by all his failures. He stared and stared and stared and the creature stared back.

Arthur blinked and suddenly the creature was right next to him. Its limbs were too long, too thin, didn’t make sense how the thing could even move. The marks on its skin looked like words but none Arthur understood. The hole of its mouth opened, and Arthur was sure this time the sound would kill him.

A hoof connected with the creature’s neck. The shriek was almost worse, high-pitched, tore through Arthur’s head and left his ears ringing. Couldn’t hear himself cry out or Calliope’s breathing or hooves beating against the packed dirt, just the high ringing and his blood screaming through his veins.

He didn’t look back, this time. Just tucked his head against Calliope’s mane and gave her reins the slack she needed to maintain her breakneck speed.

 

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

Calliope shuddered beneath him, took a step and crashed forward onto her knees. Arthur slid boneless from the saddle and landed next to her. Calliope fell sideways and lay there, sides heaving beneath the loose saddle straps. She’d freed the bit from her mouth and her tongue lolled out to one side as she breathed hard, harder than Arthur had ever heard, harder even than when they fled the O’Driscolls, and he worried she’d run herself to death just to keep him safe.

Arthur opened his eyes. The sky was dark above him but the moon had yet to rise. Despite being flat on his back everything seemed to spin around him. Sweat dripped down his face and into his eyes. Still had the fever, then, not like it was going away by itself in just a few hours.

He eased up and watched Calliope catch her breath. Her mouth was closed again, nostrils flaring, and she’d raised her head up and was watching him. Had her feet tucked closer, like she was ready to stand at any second.

“You done good, girl.”

She wickered, blinked, dropped her head back with a puff of dirt. Seemed calmer now she knew Arthur was alright.

He jolted and frantically looked around. Didn’t see anything lurking in the dark, didn’t see the Butte either, not sure where they had ended up but they were still within the steppe of Blackshear. Could see the far mountains by where they blocked out the stars in big chunks. Calliope knew the area about as well as he did, it seemed.

They were stopped under the high arch of a cluster of red rocks. Might be farther south than he cared for, didn’t remember seeing anything like that on the way to the Butte. Could be anywhere, really.

Calliope made a little noise at him. She stood next to him, nose pressed into his shoulder. He had lost track of time, no way she could catch her breath that fast. Her hot breath gushed through Arthur’s hair, across his sunburn, down the back of his shirt. He leaned against her head. She wickered again, soft. Arthur closed his eyes. They shouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. True fever delirium was catching up to him fast. He’d barely been able to keep water down. If they didn’t get to help soon, he’d end up dead in the dirt and Dutch would have to come looking for a dried out corpse.

His ankle refused to support him anymore. Arthur pulled himself into the saddle one-handed, felt it shift, having come loose when Calliope flopped into the dirt. Hadn’t been tight to begin with, small miracle it stayed on during her mad dash. Arthur couldn’t do much more than pray.

“Let’s go, girl.”

Calliope trotted into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took a turn I hadn't anticipated. Guess this turned into a supernatural thriller? Kinda?
> 
> Your comments bring me great joy :)
> 
> Also ahahaa ok so when I broke my foot I could 100% feel the free-floating bone (I snapped one bone in half and fractured another) and writing about this kind of injury brings back a lot of memories so I hope y'all appreciate it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello yes I haven’t played the first game and I forgot the New Austin area exists so uh let’s just pretend Blackshear is in that vague area, kay? Please roll with it.
> 
> Lots of graphic wound care and treatment in this chapter. Gotta use my medical training somewhere, right?

The battered wagon, pulled by an old draft horse gone grey in the face, bumped along the washed out trail. Flash floods cleared out most of the roads this time of year, forced the driver into the dried silt of the riverbed. Wagons got mired in this area all the time and deep gouges littered the ground. Did his best to avoid them, but thumped through one and jostled his passenger awake.

“Dammit Joseph! What did I say?”

“Sorry mama, that was a real big one.”

“Lucky you didn’t break the wheel. Gimme the reins.”

“But mama—”

“Not going back to sleep after that. Check on the girls, would you?”

The woman adjusted her wide hat and blinked the sleep from her eyes as Joseph clambered into the back. A thin wail sounded a second later, quickly followed by an even louder one, and Caroline sighed. Should’ve made Petey take one of the babies with him when he rode ahead. Hard enough making sure Joseph didn’t run them off the road as it were. But Petey promised an easier go of things out this way, and Caroline was too tired to put up a fight anymore.

When she said she was sick of the snow, she hadn’t meant she wanted to move to the desert. _Not a desert! Just have to pass through one, sort of_. Petey’d kissed her until the frown lifted from her brows.

Oughtta cuff Petey when she next saw him. Fool talked her into all sorts of _situations_.

The wails grew louder. Caroline sighed. Her breasts ached, might as well stop to feed them. She guided the wagon toward the shade beneath a curved red rock that straddled the dry river. Could be pretty, if she weren’t sweaty and overheated and leaking milk. She hollered over her shoulder for Joseph to take the reins again when she spotted a horse, no saddle, and someone on the ground next to it.

Caroline stopped the wagon.

“What is it, mama?”

“Get me the gun and stay here.”

Caroline did not want to be doing this. Her bodice was starting to get soaked and the girls cried even harder, now fully awake. Probably need a changing too. A headache started between her ears.

She hopped down from the wagon with a grunt. They’d been driving two days now, sleeping in the wagon, and she was _sore_ , ready to march into the nearest hotel and demand a bath and slap Petey around for being such a fool. Loaded the shotgun as she approached the figure and the horse.

The horse’s ears laid flat and it bared its teeth at her. Snorted and stamped its feet, moved to block the man on the ground with its own body. Caroline kept her voice low.

“It’s okay now, huh? That your feller there?”

The horse snorted again. Caroline held out her hand, about five feet away, for the horse to sniff. The man on the ground still had not moved. Caroline took her eyes off the horse for a moment to look him over, see if he was still breathing.

Didn’t look so great. Skin red from being in the sun. He only had one boot, and his bare foot looked mangled something awful. Some kind of dark bandage on one arm. Caroline could see blood through the open top of his shirt.

Caroline inched closer. The horse sniffed her hand, seemed to have calmed.

“There now—”

The horse reared when Caroline tried to pet it. Feet landed close to the man. A sharp breath through his nose and he started to shift. Caroline’s eyes darted between the man and the horse.

  
  


When he blinked his eyes open he could still see an arch of red above him. Must’ve fallen off and Calliope just stood by him. Hadn’t made it anywhere, then. Just fell off right where he got on and passed out again. _Useless, Morgan, can’t even ride a horse_.

Her snorting was what had woken him, and then the thud of her hooves by his head. A part of him, buried deep beneath the fever, panicked that the creature had found them again.

“Mister? Sir, you alive down there?”

Arthur groaned but didn’t move. Calliope lowered her head to check on him, but kept her ears towards the voice.

“You okay, mister?”

Arthur groaned again. “Do I look okay?”

“Can you calm your horse, so I can help you?”

Arthur tried to see where the voice was coming from, but he was turned completely the wrong direction and he couldn’t make his eyes roll back that far. Instead, he reached towards Calliope and started hushing her.

In an instant she focused entirely on him, pushed her nose into his hand. “There, girl, no need to put up such a fuss.”

Calliope shoved her nose harder into his hand, snorted. He stroked along the velvety mound, up her blaze. She blinked at him a few times. Arthur kept his hand there as he heard the person approach, feet crunching over loose rocks.

A woman stepped into his view. Her hat blocked out the sun and he didn’t have to squint to see her anymore. She had a freckled face lined with tired wrinkles. A few strands of dark hair had escaped her braid. Arthur got the impression she was concerned, but also inconvenienced.

“Mama?”

The woman stood. The sun seared Arthur’s eyes again and he winced, sucked in a breath. She leaned back over him, put a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, sir,” and leaned back up, but made sure to block the sun. “Joseph! Get back in the damn wagon and bring it closer! This man’s injured.” She knelt next to Arthur, face open and neutral. “Okay mister, let’s get you into town. Can you stand?”

“No,” Arthur croaked. Eyes flicked down to his exposed foot, just as sunburnt as the rest of him.

“What happened?”

“Panther.”

“Out here?”

Arthur wanted to explain, but the sun was tiring him out again, he was so _damn thirsty_. Calliope danced nervously in place as the wagon drew closer.

“Do I need to worry about running into it?”

“No. No, I killed it.”

“Good. Joseph! Come help me lift him!” The woman got her arms under Arthur’s. He couldn’t hold back the noises, barely realized he was making them and the woman apologized the entire time. Joseph had his legs gripped around the knees. Calliope huffed and snorted and kept her distance as they loaded him into the back of the wagon.

This felt familiar. Cramped in a covered wagon, hurting all over. Arthur thought it odd to be so warm this far north of Strawberry. He could walk back to camp in a day from there, right? Didn’t have any money for the stagecoach either.

“Don’t worry about money, sir, just lie still. We’re going to Mill Plains, don’t know where Strawberry is. That where you’re from? We can send word to your family once we’re in town.”

Hadn’t realized he spoke out loud. His family? Dutch hadn’t said anything about any jobs in Strawberry, how did this woman know that when Arthur didn’t?

“Sir? Hell. Joseph! Fetch me some water!”

Why were there babies crying? Only kid in camp was Jack, that didn’t make a lick of sense.

“Sorry, sir, my girls are hungry, sorry if the crying bothers you. Can you call your horse? What’s it’s name?”

“Calliope,” he managed past dry lips. Pried his eyes open. Saw he weren’t in that wagon, couldn’t be, that was months ago. He wasn’t near Strawberry. He was on some cursed plains and a panther had tried to kill him and everything hurt. Was a third thing, what was the third thing, something else had happened.

He lost track of things again. Next he knew, the woman was back in his view. The crying had stopped. Arthur looked out the wagon, saw Calliope standing some distance off, eyeing him nervously.

“Where are we?”

The woman shushed him and offered a canteen. When he didn’t reach to take it, she gently cupped the back of his head and helped him drink. The water was warm but it soothed his cracked throat anyways. She allowed him to finish the whole thing.

“Not far from Mill Plains, should be there by the end of the day if we get going soon. I’m not much one for doctoring, but can I check you over?”

Arthur swallowed. His throat clicked. “Ain’t a sight fit for a lady.”

The woman snorted. “You ever seen any babies born, mister?”

“Naw.”

“Then you don’t know what’s fit for a lady to see, beggin’ respect.”

He nodded. Felt himself slipping away again. He whistled for Calliope to come closer.

“Name’s Caroline, by the way.”

Arthur was pulled from his daze. “Arthur.”

Caroline was slow in her movements, looked up at his face to be sure he knew what she was about to do. Unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it open. It caught on the burn, the gash along his hip that must have oozed in the night after he fell from Calliope.

“Panther did this, you said?”

“All ‘cept the burn, did that’n myself.”

Caroline gave him a weak smile. “It’s infected.”

“Know.”

“This other one isn’t looking so good either. You didn’t bandage it?”

Arthur swallowed, throat dry again. Caroline reached around for another canteen and helped him drink from it again.

“Couldn’t.” Held up his splinted hand. First time he’d looked it in proper light, and he winced. The puffy skin of his forearm was almost as black as the panther. Caroline could feel heat radiating from the punctures, looked deep but not quite into the bone. Man was lucky he had enough muscle for the cat to tear into.

Caroline sat back on her heels. “Well, like I said, not one much for doctorin’, but I’ve done stitches so I thought . . . . thought maybe I could help, but you’re in a bad way, sir.”

“I know.”

Caroline closed his shirt, scrounged a blanket to drape over his legs. Arthur winced when it hit his ankle. Caroline apologized, dug out something soft to rest it on. Moving it hurt; Arthur’s vision went dark and the world tilted sideways. He felt a dry hand against his cheek and thought he heard the woman speaking.

“Hey, hey now, c’mon. That should feel better, yeah? Sorry I had to touch it. Petey got laid up with a sprained ankle last year, said keeping it up helped.” She kept a hand on his cheek, pushed his damp hair away from his wet face, probably didn’t even realize she was doing it. Some women seemed to be that way, in Arthur’s experience, mothers to anyone needy who crossed their paths. “Here, have some more water before we get going. I’ll stay in the back while Joseph drives.”

Arthur swallowed water until his stomach hurt. One of the babies made noise from somewhere he couldn’t see in the wagon. He drifted as Caroline got everything situated and Joseph started the wagon again. Arthur heard Calliope trot after them, giving worried noises every now and again. The ride in the old wagon was anything but smooth, but Arthur was far gone enough he hardly noticed. Once Caroline pulled away from him to check on the babies, he lost any care about paying attention to anything. No one to focus on, he sank into a hot, fitful rest.

  


\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

The wagon bounced out of the riverbed and onto an actual road. Arthur must have made a noise because Caroline appeared in front of him again, a baby held to her chest, one side of her dress open.

“Arthur? Arthur, are you alright? Joseph! Take it easy!”

“I’m trying, mama! We’re on the road now.”

Caroline put the back of her hand on Arthur’s forehead and frowned. “Your fever’s getting worse.”

“Your husband ever tell you your bedside manner ain’t the best?”

Caroline smiled. “He wouldn’t dream of it. My pa told me never to lie to a dying man.”

“You think ‘m dying?”

“Seen men die from a lot less, sir.”

Arthur swallowed. “Yeah, me too.”

The sun had started to set, but heat raged on within Arthur. Felt more like the sun was stuck inside him, would chase him forever until he finally gave in and let it kill him.

“I can see the town, mama!”

The baby in Caroline’s arms popped off with a wet noise and started wailing. Arthur looked away as she adjusted her dress and soothed the infant. The second one started up crying too. A deep growling sigh left the woman. “Just five minutes, girls, that’s all I need _for chrissake_.”

Arthur lost track of her as she fussed about the babies. Lost track of everything, even the bouncing of the wagon. Thought he saw Calliope coming up behind them, but without him there to soothe her she might be hesitant to go into town on her own. Caroline disappeared to the front of the wagon and Arthur could just hear her shouting for the doctor before he passed out again.

Weren’t out long, wished he’d been out longer. Woke up as soon as they tried to move him. Outright screamed when someone grabbed his ankle before Caroline could warn them off it. Didn’t pass out. Wished he had. The man apologized and grabbed him around the knees instead. Three men, actually, it took to get Arthur’s dead weight from the wagon. The fever had sapped any strength he had to lend in helping move his own bulk. Seemed every time he blinked he’d traveled ten feet. Gave up trying to keep his eyes open and let his head fall back against whoever held him by the shoulders. Could still hear people talking around him, thought maybe he heard Calliope off in the distance.

A bitter, acrid smell burned beneath his nose and he snorted to try to clear it.

“There we are, don’t go leaving us quite yet.”

Arthur groaned. “Just lemme _die_ already, you fool.”

A chuckle. Who the hell was laughing at him?

“Seems you’re plenty good at doing that yourself. Don’t begrudge me doing my job. And we wouldn’t want to waste the lady’s effort, would we? Bring you all the way back here to have you die as soon as you’re in bed?”

Arthur struggled to open his eyes. The weight left his side; hadn’t noticed someone was sitting on the bed next to him.

Small room, well lit by several lamps. Glass-front cabinets took up two walls, a small window on the third, the bed he was in against the last one next to a low nightstand and an open door frame. Couldn’t smell anything beyond the salts the doctor had waved in front of him, but there were a bunch of flowers in a white vase on the windowsill. Arthur saw stars over the top of the buildings and not much else.

Caroline was stood in the corner, by the window. One baby in her arms, the other with a man Arthur hadn’t seen.

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay, thought you might not make it out of the wagon. This is my husband, Petey.”

Petey was tall, probably taller than Arthur, but looked about as thick around as a telephone pole. One eye was scarred shut and his nose looked like it hadn’t seen a single day unbroken.

“How’s the ankle, Petey?”

Petey’s brows furrowed and he looked to his wife. Caroline shrugged. Petey ignored the question. Looked like he weren’t much one for joking. “We have some space at the homestead, if you’d like us to look after your horse.”

“Sure, if she’ll come with you. Bit willful, that one.”

“I think I can manage her,” Caroline offered.

Arthur tried to sit up, looking around for his satchel. The doctor reappeared just at that moment, hands full of bandages and a basin. Caroline foisted her baby on her husband and made it to Arthur before the doctor could, helped him sit.

“ ‘m bag, the little one. . . .” his hand trembled as he dug through the satchel. Caroline took it from him, easily found the waxed bag of peppermints.

When she smiled, it actually reached her eyes this time. “These her favorites?”

“Yeah, but don’t give ‘er too many or she’ll never listen to me again.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “I’ll have to ask you both to leave, now, so I have room to work.”

Caroline set Arthur’s satchel on the nightstand, where he could see it.

“We’ll be sure to come by tomorrow.”

“That’s not necessary, ma’am,” Arthur rasped. When had his throat gone so dry again.

The doctor put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that right now. Please, if you two could see yourselves out.”

The brass bell above the door jingled cheerily as it opened and closed. The doctor moved Arthur’s satchel and replaced it with the basin, bandages, bottles of antiseptic. Then he went over to the glass cabinets and started pulling out more tools, things Arthur hadn’t seen before but knew he didn’t like, even through the fog of fever. The last thing the doctor pulled out was a clear vial and a syringe.

“Don’t need none of that.”

The doctor’s face remained impassive. Arthur was surprised to see a black feller in a town like this, but folk seemed to respect him enough. Not like the last black doctor he’d met. Probably helped they weren’t anywhere near Lemoyne.

“Do you know what debridement is?”

“Not a lick.”

The doctor came around the bed and pulled a low stool up to it. He set the needle and the vial on the nightstand. Apologized as he pulled Arthur’s shirt off him. “It means I have to open up this burn, dig out the infected tissue, and clean it. I can’t stitch it because you burned too much skin around it, and the stitches would tear it further. So I have to pack it with soaked cotton and hope the infection doesn’t spread. The cotton must be changed daily until the wound starts to close on its own.”

Arthur swallowed audibly. The doctor held a glass of water for him. “What if it spreads?”

“I have to debride it again. You don’t look a fool, mister. . . .?”

“Matthews.”

“Mr. Matthews. You stopped the bleeding, that would’ve killed you faster than the infection can, and I don’t fault you for doing what you must. Mrs. Donahue said she found you pretty far out of town, I’m impressed you made it that far.”

“Came farther than that, from Blackshear Butte.”

The doctor hummed to himself as he examined the other injuries. “Must have a good horse, that’s just about a full day’s ride from where you were found. These wounds, here, won’t need debriding. They’ll heal faster if I stitch them. Let me see your arm, please.”

Arthur dutifully held it out for the doctor, like a dog lifting a wounded paw. “Mmm, good you splinted it. I can tell just by looking it’s broken. The punctures don’t look too badly infected yet.” He set the arm back down on the bed, turned to meet Arthur’s eyes again. “Please, Mr. Matthews, let me give you the morphine.”

Arthur shook his head. Regretted it when the world titled. His stomach churned and he felt the water coming back up.

The doctor was by his head with the basin as he heaved. Nothing but water. Been more than a day since he last ate.

“Please, Mr. Matthews.” 

“I said no, alright?”

The doctor sighed. “Fine. But this is going to hurt, might hurt more than it did when it happened. I have to feel along your arm to find the break and set it.”

“Sure it’s broke that bad? Looked straight enough to me.”

The doctor gave Arthur a long-suffering look. “Are we looking at the same arm, Mr. Matthews?”

Arthur gave up the fight and sank into the pillow. The doctor started to unwrap the splint. It throbbed all over again. His fingers twitched involuntarily. The doctor grasped the arm, around Arthur’s wrist and elbow, and gently turned it to take in the extent of the damage. He gave Arthur no warning before he pressed into the meat of the bruise.

Arthur couldn’t help the reflex. His other hand came up and punched the doctor clean on the cheek. Weak as he was from the fever, it weren’t too hard a punch, but the doctor fell off the stool with a hand to his face.

“Aw hell, I’m sorry doc,” Arthur mumbled through clenched teeth. Felt like he was going to throw up all over again.

“I won’t hold it against you.” He climbed to his feet, dusted himself off. Didn’t sit back down. “If you’re going to continue to refuse the morphine, I’ll need to fetch someone to help hold you down. I sent my assistant home for the night, but the barman’s got strong arms and he never minds stepping in.”

Arthur breathed hard through his nose. Willed himself not to vomit again. Nothing would come up and he’d just hurt himself. He panted through the pain rolling up and down his arm.

“Fine, fine, alright.”

The doctor only looked concerned as he drew the dose and administered it. Arthur had never had any himself, just heard people talk about the effects of morphine. Thought he knew what to expect.

Made him feel worse, in a way. Still felt like he was going to throw up, but didn’t feel like his arm was caught in the panther’s jaws again when the doctor lifted it and started to poke around.

Must have found right where the break was, because Arthur’s fist came up again, in even less control of it now that the drug was in his system.

“ ‘m _soorry_ ,” he slurred. Blinked tears from his eyes. Like being drunk but worse, weird and different and loose in all the wrong places. Just felt like _crying_ , what the hell’d he have to be so upset about?

The doctor waved it off. “No need to worry. Stay here a moment.”

Arthur sniffled. The bell above the door jingled. He realized he was alone. A few tears escape. He was always alone. Didn’t even have Calliope anymore, probably never gonna see her again, never make it out of here. Too far gone, he could feel it. Infection and fever eating away at him. He choked on a sob, choked it back so hard he vomited over the side of the bed onto the floor. Just water, again, but it burned like acid on the way back up.

Didn’t hear the door open again, lost to his misery.

“The hell did you do to him, Xander?”

“Morphine’s a strange thing, Leonard, that’s hardly my fault. Just keep him still. Can’t give him any more and he has . . . adverse reactions to pain.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s punched me, twice.”

“S-said I was _sorry_ ,” Arthur said around a sob.

Xander hushed him with an impossibly kind smile. What’d Arthur done to deserve such a nice smile? “As I said, quite alright. Morphine works differently for everyone, and I’ve seen just about all of them. Leonard’s going to hold you still while I set the bone, okay?”

Arthur thought he recognized the man who swam in his teary vision. He lost track of the two men as they shuffled around the bed. Leonard settled onto it, an arm on each of Arthur’s shoulders. Xander held the broken arm somewhere outside Arthur’s field of vision.

“On three. One, two—”

Arthur lurched upwards with a scream, but Leonard held him steady. Xander made quick work of tying down a proper splint. Kept the wrist from flopping around and tugging on the break.

“There, finished.”

“You’re a fuckin’ _liar_ ,” Arthur rasped, eyes shut. Someone pat his other hand, trying to be soothing, some part of him knew, but right now strangers touching him was the last thing he wanted.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts. It’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Liar,” Arthur muttered. Xander ignored him and moved down to his leg.

Arthur’s heart sped up, his breathing along with it. Xander glanced at him and frowned.

“Leonard, this one might be harder.”

“Got it.” Leonard came around the other side of the bed, leaned most of his weight on Arthur’s torso, careful of the open wounds. Arthur wanted to see what Xander was doing to his leg, felt him slide a hand under his calf and another along his foot—

Leonard anticipated Arthur’s other leg kicking out, caught it just in time to keep from hitting the doctor. Arthur whimpered as Xander probed the wound.

“Feels like just a sprain, won’t need to set it.” He leaned around Leonard to catch Arthur’s eye. “Did you hear me, Mr. Matthews? I only have to clean the wounds and wrap this one, I’ll be done soon.”

Arthur couldn’t stop the tears, didn’t have the energy. Didn’t even have the energy to turn away from Leonard, who was doing his best to look somewhere else and give Arthur some privacy to weep.

Must have finally passed out as the doctor worked the ankle. Arthur came aware to low voices. Peeled his eyes open. Xander was pointing at the wound on Arthur’s chest, Leonard nodding along.

“Rude to talk about folk like they ain’t there.”

Xander moved to the nightstand, wrung out a cloth and placed it on Arthur’s forehead. Arthur sighed deep at the soothing cold. He felt tacky with old sweat, and he could start to smell himself. Xander kept a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Mr. Matthews. I’d hope you wouldn’t be awake for this.”

“Fer what?”

Arthur looked down at himself. Leg bandaged, propped up on several pillows. The doctor had cut away his jeans from the knee down. His splinted arm throbbed where it lay limply on the bed. The cuts along his hip had been stitched.

“The debridement. I can’t give you more morphine for a few hours, but I can’t leave the wound that long. You’re quite a strong man, Leonard had to recruit his son.”

Arthur finally saw the man in the corner. Barely a man, really, didn’t look any older than eighteen. Arthur groaned. “Don’t make the boy see this.”

“Kid’s got an idea in his head to be a doctor, I _want_ him to see this,” Leonard snorted. “Come get his legs, Warren, careful of that one.”

The boy stared at Arthur, eyes wide as a doe’s. Arthur tried to sit but Leonard easily held him down with one hand.

“Get him _outta_ here—”

“Mr. Matthews, with all due respect, we need him and the rest of the town is asleep. If we don’t do this now, you might not see the morning.”

A great breath left Arthur in a rush. A weight settled on his legs. Leonard gripped his shoulders with a muttered apology. Arthur closed his eyes, shoulders rock hard with tension as he heard the doctor arrange metal instruments on the nightstand. One hand on his chest, cool and dry, next to the wound.

No warning. Arthur’s eyes shot open as he jerked. The kid came free of his legs with a startled yelp, knocked into the injured one. Arthur willed himself to still, to keep from kicking the kid in the face and knocking his teeth out. He breathed harsh through his nose. The hand on his chest moved to the side of his neck.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Matthews, would you like some warning next time?”

Arthur panted and squeezed his eyes tighter shut. “Na, na, get it over with.”

The hand moved back to his chest. “As you wish. Warren, keep his damn legs still. Sit on his knees if you have to.”

He had to. Arthur bucked as the doctor peeled the scabs off and started scrubbing away the infection. Arthur wished he couldn’t smell it, but boy _could he smell it_. Wonder he weren’t dead when Caroline found him. Felt like the doctor was digging clear through to his heart, fixing to yank it out still beating. Arthur screamed himself hoarse before something was shoved into his mouth for him to bite down on.

Something scraped particularly deep in his chest. The doctor apologized, poured a cold liquid into the wound that turned it back into fire a second later.

“Finished, Mr. Matthews, I just have to pack it now. Thank you, Warren. Are you still with us, Mr. Matthews?”

Arthur groaned. “Unfortunately.”

“Most patients lose consciousness during that procedure.”

“Would’a preferred that, doc. Knock me over the head next time, will ya?” He opened a single eye. Nothing would come into focus. Arthur blinked, rapidly, head suddenly lighter than the feathers Charles fletched his arrows with. The room went grey and soft around the edges. He saw who he thought was the doctor swim into his field of view, and then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact morphine was like, super easy to die from when it was first invented. Painkillers affect everyone differently. I had surgery on a super broken foot last year, and the stuff they gave me afterwards made me really sleepy and kinda like I wanted to cry every time I was awake. When I woke up from the anesthesia I just wanted to hug my friend and never let go, but in a weepy drunk girl way. Basically was only awake for about 4 hours a day the first week, Not Fun Stuff.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes NPCs say REALLY COOL THINGS and you never get to know anything else about them. I want to know why the Trapper had 4 wives? His Canadian life sounds so interesting.

Late evening sun cast long shadows across the front windows of the house, blackened the cobbled walkway. The dark seeped from between the trees to cover the road dusted with the season’s first snow.

Arthur looked around for his horse, couldn’t find it. How had he gotten here? Hadn’t walked, had he? Thought he remembered it being too far, thought it would be safer that way, safer when he visited the two of them.

Snow drifted down as Arthur approached the house. Hadn’t remembered seeing any clouds, but it was now bitterly cold and he blew into his hands to try to warm them up. When had he lost his gloves? The sun dripped behind the mountains between one breath and the next, and Arthur had to squint to see the door. Should he knock? Why weren’t any of the lanterns lit? Swore he left them with enough money for kerosene to last through the winter.

Fumbled with the handle, cold, bit and stung into his hand like a wasp. He yanked his hand back but the door opened anyways onto darkness deeper than that of the surrounding woods. Arthur took a step back, tried to find the moon. Hidden by clouds, nothing but a diffuse glow that barely illuminated the piles of snow drifted against the house high as the windows. Buried sloppy like a forgotten corpse.

Arthur suddenly didn’t want to go inside. Thought he saw two spots, impossibly darker than the already impossible dark, watch his jerky movements.

A light flared to life inside the cabin. Arthur tried to backtrack to the moment everything was dark when he couldn’t see anything.

The creature found him. The creature found _them_ , Eliza and Isaac, tore open and steaming beneath its spindly limbs. Isaac twitched, not quite dead. The creature jammed a claw into the boy’s chest. His eyes locked onto Arthur’s as he gurgled his final breath.

Yanked its bloody hand free. Like a man’s hand, but stretched, stretched thin and reaching towards Arthur to snag his coat and scream at him before tearing him apart.

The mouth yawned, opened, opened _opened_ and Arthur saw two yellow eyes deep within. Down farther than the devil could reach and burning brighter than the sun. The mouth opened more. Arthur tried to move but found his back against a wall, a solid wall of crimson rock stretching up higher than he could see if he dared look away from the panther delicately stepping from the creature’s gaping maw.

The panther pressed forward, slow, stalking Arthur across the hopeless distance between them wide and open as the Blackshear steppes. Something screamed behind him, at the top of the Butte where he couldn’t see. The scream grew closer, rushed down to meet him. The panther lunged at the same moment Calliope slammed into the packed earth.

  
Arthur’s whole body jerked and his eyes flew open. “ _Isaac_!”

Someone shifted next to him. “Who’s Isaac?”

Arthur turned his head towards the voice and waited for his eyes to focus, too long, long enough he wanted to just give up and close them again. The boy from last night, Wane? Warring? Wendall? _The hell’s his name?_ Sat next to the bed on the doctor’s stool and with a general store catalog open on his lap.

“No one. No one. Where’s the doctor?” Arthur struggled to sit. The kid flailed next to him, panicked clear into next week.

“Please, mister! The doctor said not to let you move! Lie back!”

“Alright, kid, jeez, settle down.” Arthur didn’t have any fight in him anyways. Kid shouldn’t be worried over him so much.

Arthur still felt woozy. Tongue thick in his mouth. His stomach ached, the hollow pang of hunger. The thought of food churned it a bit. Would settle for some water first.

“Oh gosh mister you don’t look so great. Doctor White! Doctor White! Please come quick!”

The doctor sauntered into the room. Gave Arthur the impression the kid had panicked over him before.

“Ah, so he is _this time_.” Xander wiped his hands on his apron and started to check Arthur over, shooed the kid away.

“How long was I out?”

“Three days, here and there.”

Arthur winced when Dr. White removed the bandage over his chest. Didn’t look _worse_ , far as he could tell through his still-blurry vision. “This is doing a lot better. Your fever finally broke last night. Gave Mrs. Donahue quite the scare.” The doctor moved on to the wound at his hip, made a pleased noise at what he saw.

“Missus who?”

“Donahue. The woman who brought you into town.”

“Caroline? Why was she here?”

“I believe because she was worried about you, Mr. Matthews. Hoped you might be awake and could tell you about your horse. Said she was getting along well.”

Arthur tensed as the doctor got closer to his ankle, but he just gave it a cursory look before nodding to himself. “Keep that still and it should heal fine. Same for your arm, but I need to change the bandage on it. You knocked the splint loose a few times.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

Dr. White shrugged. “Can’t be helped.”

The doctor went about pulling the necessary supplies from his cupboards. Arthur’s stomach growled loud enough for the doctor to hear it.

“I’ll have some food brought to you after we’re through. Wouldn’t want you to go throwing it all up again.”

“An experience I would sooner not repeat, I can assure you that.”

Dr. White settled next to the bed and grasped Arthur’s arm, gentle as anything. Arthur wasn’t sure he had the strength to lift it yet, weren’t sure he wanted to _try_ , even. The doctor slowly unwrapped the bandages and let the wood of the splint fall to the mattress. Three days wasn’t long, and it somehow looked worse. The bruises spread out from the punctures like mold in just about every shade Arthur had ever seen a bruise.

“Excellent, no more infection. This looks much better than when you arrived.”

“It _does_?”

“Yes, see how the swelling has gone down? The bone was out of place. Once you set a bone, it generally heals well on its own. You were lucky the teeth didn’t hit it. I’ve had to amputate from similar injuries in the past.” Dr. White secured the splint once more, a little tighter. Arthur grunted.

“Get a lot of _panther_ attacks out here?”

“Here? Not so much. Worst the good folks of Mill Plains ever brought me was a man kicked in the face by a steer, until you showed up.”

“Where _did_ you get a lot of panther attacks?”

Dr. White smiled, tight but genuine. Closer and no longer hazed by fever, Arthur could see he was a lot older than his first impression. Probably close to Hosea’s age, maybe older, even.

“Mrs. Donahue said she would come by again today. I’ll see about having that food sent over. My assistant will be in shortly.” The doctor departed and Arthur tried to get a better grasp of his surroundings. The view out the little window was mostly of sky and other buildings. Thought he could maybe hear chickens scratching around the dirt somewhere. Mill Plains wasn’t busy the first time he rolled through, and it definitely didn’t sound busy now, even with all the commotion he no doubt caused.

Arthur hadn’t realized he’d fallen back asleep until there was a sharp knock on the door frame.

“Mr. Matthews?”

“The one and only.”

The young woman swept into the room. Reminded him a lot of Mary-Beth with her brown curls tumbled down her shoulders. Splash of freckles along her chin and nose. Her blue dress was buttoned high to her chin and covered with an apron similar to the doctor’s. She had a tray in one hand with a covered dish and some smaller objects Arthur couldn’t make out. She set the tray on the nightstand, kicked the stool over to the bed and sat down with a practiced motion.

“I’m Miss Mayfield, Dr. White’s assistant. I’ll be taking care of you while he’s out on business today. Let’s get you sat up and fed, hm? Dr. White said you hadn’t eaten in some time.”

Her way of speaking, devoid of any accent Arthur could identify, ticked some kind of curiosity he didn’t have the energy to explore. Definitely not from around here. Sounded real learned.

Arthur’s thoughts changed direction the instant she helped him sit. The movement pulled at everything and he felt sore and gross and _hurt_. Been sweating in a bed for three days and here he was letting a woman touch him unwashed and nasty. With a blush he realized he was naked as a jaybird beneath the sheet. Doctor must’ve had to cut his clothes off him at some point, no sense dressing him up again just for him to bleed and sweat through them.

“Sorry if I smell.”

“You don’t, Mr. Matthews, but I can fetch a basin of warm water and a cloth later, if you feel up to it.”

Arthur knew she was lying just to be nice. “Might be nice.”

“But you can’t get the wounds wet, yet. Not unless it’s an antiseptic wash. You’re still at risk for infection until they heal more.” She fluffed the pillow at his back, offered a wide smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Looked about as old as Mary-Beth, too. “How do you feel about chicken broth?”

“Can’t complain about free chow.”

The smile stayed in place. Miss Mayfield cradled the bowl with her right hand and dipped a spoon to it with her left. “If you can keep this down I’ve got some bread and biscuits here as well.”

Arthur made to grab the spoon and feed himself. His arm made it about halfway before thumping back onto the bed. “Huh.”

A laugh escaped past Miss Mayfield’s painted lips. “That’s about what I thought. I won’t tell anyone you had to be spoon-fed.”

“Embarrassment of the century. Big guy like me’d never live it down.”

Arthur managed the whole bowl. Felt about as drained as he would from hauling water buckets all day across camp. Miss Mayfield assured him that was normal after how long he’d been laid up.

“Doc said three days?”

“That’s what he told me, yes.”

Arthur could feel himself lose his grip on consciousness. Too early in the day to go back to sleep.

“Could—” a yawn tried to unhinge his jaw, chin hit his chest, “could you possibly get a message to my father, in Valentine? That’s where we’re staying, told him I’d only be gone a couple days. Probably worrying himself into a fit. Probably thinks I’m dead by now.”

Miss Mayfield cleared the dishes onto the nightstand. Arthur didn’t even ask after the bread, soup settled heavy into his stomach, almost too much. “Certainly. We just got a telegraph put in at the post office. All we need’s a rail station and we’ll be a town worth actually putting on maps.” She pulled a paper and pencil from the nightstand, poised to take down the message.

“Who’s this for?”

“Hosea Matthews. Just tell him where I am and that I’ll be back when I can but it might be a while.”

“Want me to tell him what happened?”

Arthur shook his head. “Just tell him I’m alright, please, miss.”

Miss Mayfield put the pencil down and gave him a peculiar look, like maybe she could tell he wasn’t saying everything. “Don’t want to worry your elderly father, is that it?”

“He ain’t _that_ old.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Don’t want him to know a little kitty got the best of you?”

Arthur laughed. Miss Mayfield went back to writing his message. “We get a stagecoach through here on the regular, could ask about getting you a ride.”

“Na, I got a horse.”

She put the pencil down again. “Mr. Matthews, has Dr. White not spoken to you about this yet? You won’t be able to ride a horse for a while, a month at least. If you rode a horse here you’re not riding back out on it. Coach is your best option, unless your father can drive a wagon down to fetch you.”

“I’ve ridden with worse, miss.”

“Mhmm, and my nana could fly. You _have_ seen your wounds, Mr. Matthews?”

“Yeah I seen ‘em.”

“Then you should know you’re not riding out of here.”

“Aren’t nurses suppose to be _nice_?”

Miss Mayfield tucked the note under the empty soup bowl and moved towards the door. “I’ll get the message sent and check back in on you soon.”

Arthur grumbled at her back but was asleep soon after the bell chimed above the door.

  


He woke in fits and starts. Thought he heard the door open, thought he saw someone shuffle around his bed. Swore he heard a baby crying. Fell asleep again. Couldn’t do nothing else anyways. The door jingled open and brought the smell of food with it. Miss Mayfield had returned with another bowl and a big grin.

“Good news, Mr. Matthews. There’s a coach leaving for Valentine today, said he has room for you.”

Arthur opened his mouth to respond. She cut him off. “I sent the telegram. Luck would have it, the operator in Valentine recognized your name. Appears your father has been asking around, and will be waiting for you at the station.”

“What about my horse?”

“Mrs. Donahue was already in town with her, on her way to visit. Said she brought the horse last time but you weren’t well enough then. I’ve arranged for her husband to ride her to Valentine for you, behind the coach.”

Arthur pushed himself up with one hand before Miss Mayfield could come over to help him. “Calliope don’t like strangers much.”

“Mrs. Donahue said the same. Seems comfortable around Mr. Donahue, at least enough to get the job done. Bet she’ll calm down once she sees you.”

“She usually does.”

Miss Mayfield let him eat on his own, this time. He managed a couple shaky bites of the lamb before she took over and held the fork for him. Tried his damndest to clear the plate. Finished most of the vegetables and maybe half the meat. Felt more stuffed than a sack of shit. Miss Mayfield rearranged things on the tray.

“Now for the hard part. Picked you up some new clothes, nothing fancy. They’re just in the other room. I can see you about to protest, Mr. Matthews, don’t you worry about sullying my good reputation. Dr. White will help you into them.”

As if on cue, the front door opened and Dr. White loudly announced himself. “Was just a touch of false labor again, after all, like I keep telling the poor dear.”

“It’s her first, she’s bound to be nervous.”

“Maybe she’ll be less nervous if I start charging her by the hour,” Dr. White sighed. Clapped his hands together. “Alright Mr. Matthews, let’s get you dressed and on your way home.”

Miss Mayfield made her exit, said something about getting the coach closer to the store.

All hopes Arthur had of this being an easy thing fled the moment Dr. White hauled him to standing. Arthur worried the older man wouldn’t be able to hold his entire weight, but Xander was sturdy as an old oak and took it without complaint when Arthur sagged against him. Dr. White apologized about the lack of undergarments, assured Arthur it was easier, for now. The pants were dark and loose, not something Arthur would’ve chosen for himself but easy enough to get in and out of. Dr. White left the cuffs unbuttoned on the shirt, rolled the left one up so it wouldn’t get caught in the splint. Muttered something about maybe putting it in a sling, then thought better of it. “Just keep it in your lap and try not to move it, alright?”

His suspenders and lone boot were the only thing to survive. Someone had wiped them clean.

Dr. White eased Arthur onto the edge of the bed while he went to check on the stagecoach. Arthur scrunched his eyes shut and willed the world to stop spinning. The door jingled open just a few seconds after he left, but it was Caroline who popped her head around the corner.

“Oh, Arthur, you look so much better!”

“Don’t feel that way. Don’t think I got to thank you proper, either.” Arthur cleared his throat. “So, thank you, for bringing me into town and takin’ care of Calliope while I was laid up.”

Caroline settled onto the stool. “She gave us some trouble, but once we put her in the paddock with Brownie she did a lot better.”

“Brownie?”

“You met him, he was pulling the wagon.”

“The hell kinda name is that for a horse?”

“Joseph named him, we’ve had Brownie . . . oh shoot, how old’s Joseph now? Fourteen? We got Brownie when Joseph was three, let him pick the name.”

“Kid can drive, at least.”

“Yeah, he can. I can do a lot, but I can’t feed twins and keep a wagon going at the same time.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt. “Oh, almost forgot. Dr. White asked us to keep your satchel for you. Restocked your peppermints. Calliope found where I left them and gobbled them all right up. Gave herself a bellyache.”

Arthur took the satchel from her, tried to count his bills without being obvious about it. “Sounds about right.” Pulled out something like forty dollars. “Please, take this for your troubles.”

Caroline held up her hands, gently pushed the money back. “I can’t, anyone would have done the same.”

“Plenty a people woulda just left me there for the vultures.”

“Save it for the doctor, please, I insist.”

Arthur sighed. “If you insist.”

The door jangled behind them. Several sets of loud feet. Arthur tensed for a moment, certain it had to be bounty hunters or Pinkertons despite no evidence thereof. Head still spinning, thoughts unable to catch up.

Dr. White stepped into the room, followed by Petey and Leonard.

“Really think it’s gonna take all three of you to haul my ass outta here?”

“Took three to bring you in,” Leonard muttered as he came around one side of the bed.

“Where’re the girls?” Caroline only had eyes for her husband.

“In the wagon with Joseph. We need to hurry up, stage don’t want to wait all day. Already gonna be driving through the night.”

Caroline swept from the room and waited for them just inside the front door, held it open. Arthur tried to hobble a step, put some of his weight on his good foot. Weaker than a newborn foal, turned out, would’ve dropped like wet laundry if it weren’t for Dr. White on one side and Leonard on the other. Petey was too much taller than the both of them, so he got relegated to hauling Arthur around the knees and walking backwards. Had to stoop a little through the door. Arthur’s cheeks burned at being carried like a side of beef.

A familiar whinny cut through the shame. Something uncoiled from his chest, slithered away like a startled snake. Smile cleaved his face ear to ear.

“There’s my girl!”

Calliope called to him over the stagecoach, pulled almost right up to the doctor’s door. The driver looked bored beyond measure. There were three other people in the coach, a much older man and two girls who couldn’t be any more than six and seven. All three were crammed on one bench. The other had been made up specifically for Arthur, looked like. He grumbled about no one needing to go the trouble; Dr. White reminded him it was a long day’s ride to Valentine. Arthur shut up, tried not to scare the little girls.

“Grandpa, what’s wrong with him?”

“Is he ok, grandpa?”

The man shushed the girls. Arthur tried to smile at them, but it was strained. He already ached all over. Calliope’s cries tugged at him in a way not dissimilar from the stitches in his hip. Dr. White and Miss Mayfield spent a good while propping him up and elevating the leg. The girls kept quiet but stared the whole time.

Dr. White moved to shut the door and send them on their way.

“Wait, doc, I gotta settle up—”

Dr. White held up a hand. “You can work it out with Petey when you get to Valentine.”

“Doc, at least—”

But Dr. White had already shut the door, turned to holler at the driver. “All ready, sir!”

Arthur watched Petey hold out a peppermint to Calliope, who looked like she had been tolerating this behavior for some time, before he mounted. She danced in a tight circle, but settled as the man pat her neck. Looked ridiculous on her, with how tall he was. Needed a taller horse to ride proper, but he couldn’t weigh more than Arthur, skinny as he was. Looked like a teenager tryna steal a pony. Arthur was still amazed Calliope even let someone else on her back. Suspected she only did it because she could sense how bad off Arthur was.

Turning into a routine, this. Him laid up while she followed behind, nervous as all get out.

Arthur blinked, sluggish. When was he going to stop _sleeping_ , already?

The coach lurched forward. Arthur wasn’t ready for it, bit down on his noise to keep from scaring the kids.

“Are you okay, mister?”

The grandpa shushed her again, the younger one. The girls looked close in age, matching hair and eyes and dresses. Arthur offered her a smile.

“I will be, Miss, don’t you worry about me.”

“I’m sorry if they’re bothering you, sir.”

“No trouble at all.” He fought back a yawn and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who's recovered from a major injury knows how goddamn tired it makes you. Think I slept about 16+ hours a day the first few weeks after I messed up my foot and had surgery.


	5. Chapter 5

Hosea had rented a room in the hotel but been too nervous to sleep. Still had the wagon, and John, who seemed to be the last person left at camp fit enough to carry Arthur once he arrived. Everyone else was out on business. John declined the room and said he’d rather spend the night at the saloon.

Arthur said he’d be gone a day, maybe two. Charles went looking for him after late into the third. Came back day four with nothing, no one in town had anything to say about Arthur either. On day five Hosea went into town, two shades shy of desperate, asked everyone _again_ , some more keen to talk to a white man than they were to speak with Charles.

Nothing. He moved on to the train station. Asked after mail. Nothing, not under any of their aliases. Station clerk hadn’t heard anything about anyone matching Arthur’s description, but suggested Hosea send out a telegram, had a whole list of what towns had receiving offices if he just wanted to send one to all of them. Hosea said he would think about it. Charles had gone back out again in a different direction, hadn’t come back to camp yet. Maybe he would have something by the time Hosea returned.

Turned out he _had_ found something. Arthur’s new hat. Could’ve been anyone’s hat, except for the lone rooster feather in it. Jack had given the feather to Arthur while he was still laid up. Arthur made a big show of tucking it into the hat before plonking it down on Jack’s head. Boy had fell asleep with it, brim crushed into his cheek and covered in drool by morning.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Area around Blackshear Butte.”

“Isn’t that a little far south?”

“Not so far south as Blackwater. Don’t know the towns around there well, figured you might.”

Hosea turned the hat over in his hands. _What have you gotten yourself into this time, Arthur?_

“I just might.”

Hosea rushed back to the station, not bothering to tell anywhere where he was going. Clerk showed him a map of the area, pointed to a few towns in the area. Hosea paid to send telegrams to each one of their offices, left Arthur’s name out of it and just said that if anyone asked after Hosea Matthews, to urgently contact the Valentine telegraph.

“Please, if you get _anything_ back, let me know immediately. I’ll be at the hotel until I hear something.”

The clerk assured him he would. Hosea returned to the hotel, too anxious to do anything but wear a line through the carpet. It was a long shot but it had to work. They had to get Arthur back, couldn’t just hope Calliope stumbled him back to camp again.

Hosea finally gave up his pacing, had his hand on the door handle when someone pounded on it from the other side.

“Yes?”

A boy, too out of breath to speak, handed him a telegram. Hosea thanked him and gave him a dollar with a shaking hand. Eyes skimmed the message. Didn’t close the door behind him as he scrambled for the station.

  
  


Barely a day ago, that had been, and Hosea still hadn’t slept. Probably wouldn’t sleep until Arthur was safe back at camp. The coach was suppose to be there early in the morning, was pushing past noon, now. Hosea was fixing to just go after it soon.

“Can’t be too bad off if he made it back.”

Hosea had completely forgotten John was there. Would have to let him drive back. Wouldn’t want to take his eyes off Arthur long enough to focus on the road.

“The message came from the doctor out in Mill Plains and he’s arriving by coach, it can’t be great.”

John shrugged. “Maybe he just got tired. Been out a while.”

Hosea doubted it. Arthur was still training Calliope and he would never just take a coach if she could still be ridden.

Finally, after three trains had come and gone and a stagecoach came and went from the direction of Emerald Ranch, Hosea saw the Mill Plains coach. Calliope was nowhere in sight. The coach horses were filthy with dust, white lather thick around their tack. The driver had the look of a man who had been deeply, deeply troubled by something he couldn’t stop seeing but desperately wanted to forget. As the coach bumped across the tracks and pulled in front of the station, Hosea could hear the cries of children inside. Hosea jumped down from the wagon, John a second later. All the concern he had tamped down earlier surged and soured his stomach and threatened to spill up his throat.

The coach driver was shaking, Hosea could see it from here. He got down from the seat and started to calm the horses as if in a daze. One of the coach doors opened, the one farther away from them. Hosea couldn’t see who got out, but bet it wasn’t Arthur. The children’s crying grew louder, almost outright wails. An older man with two small girls emerged around the side of the coach to collect their luggage. He marched past Hosea without so much as a word, eyes fixed on a point down the road. Hosea figured it wasn’t his problem.

“Arthur? You in there son?”

A hand waved at them through the open window. Hosea released his breath in a rush. Heard a shrill whinny from farther down the road as he reached to open the door. Hosea could just make out what looked like Calliope being ridden by some skinny giant of a man. Satisfied she wasn’t in any danger, Hosea turned back to Arthur.

The man looked truly awful. Pale beneath several days worth of beard and peeling sunburn. Hosea could smell him from here, the stale scent of someone who’d spent days sweating out a fever. Probably felt awful, unwashed and dusty and jostled. Hosea barely had time to take in Arthur’s lack of a second shoe before Arthur interrupted his thoughts.

“Little help would be appreciated.”

“Well, Arthur, you’re quite a sight.”

“Good to see you too, Hosea.”

Hosea motioned at someone behind him. Arthur couldn’t move around at all by himself, ankle too busted, everywhere else too weak.

John came into view. Arthur groaned. John had the nerve to grin at him.

“Got yourself in another scrape, Morgan?”

“Shut up, Marston.”

“Knew you was ugly, but ugly enough to make _little girls cry_? I ain’t even done that yet.”

“I said _shut up, Marston_ ,” Arthur said without any real heat. “Weren’t me anyways.”

“What was that about, anyways? Driver looks pretty spooked.”

“Tell you about it later. Get me out of this _goddamn thing_.”

Hosea and John each took one of his arms over their shoulders and guided him to their wagon. Arthur wanted to burn the damn thing, sick of seeing it like this. “Took three guys out in Mill Plains to get me into the coach, should write and tell them dear _elderly father_ ’s got more strength left in ‘im. One of them should be riding up with Calliope. Lost him for a bit but weren’t too far back.”

“Think I saw him riding up.”

Arthur didn’t hold back his noises as they hoisted him him to wagon. Hosea hadn’t gotten any details, wasn’t padded as much as it probably should be. Arthur could deal with it on the short ride back to camp.

“That them?” John pointed somewhere Arthur couldn’t see. Didn’t think he could move from where Hosea propped him behind the driver’s seat. The girls had cried most of the way, after what happened in the night, and Arthur was too shook up to get back to sleep. But with the presence of family at his back, he allowed himself to relax a fraction.

Calliope whinnied, close. Something thudded onto the ground near them and a man cursed. Calliope careened into view, dancing around the wagon until she saw Arthur stretched out in the back. Got as close as she could and hooked her head over the side. Mouthed at his hair until he pet along her nose.

“There’s my girl.”

“Hey! Your damn horse threw me again!”

“Sorry, Petey!” Arthur called from the back of the wagon. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hosea smiling and John doing nothing to cover his laughter. Arthur dug around his satchel and counted out twenty-five dollars, and then the forty Caroline had refused, and a pack of premium cigarettes. “Hosea, pay the man would ya? Thanks again!” he called, still not able to see Petey, but he could hear him grumbling as Hosea handed him the goods.

Hosea started the wagon rolling forwards. Calliope trotted behind them, steps high and bouncing. John twisted around in the seat to get a good look at Arthur.

“So, what happened this time?”

Arthur told them a shortened version, and left out the part about the creature, said Calliope got spooked by a snake and took off and got herself wore out and they were found soon after that. Left out the part where it found him again and Arthur had screamed worse’n the girls.

John pulled the wagon into camp, farther than they normally would. Hosea kept everyone else back. Could tell things had gone a little different, this time. Arthur still hadn’t talked about what had happened during the stagecoach ride, brushed off Hosea’s every attempt to know what the hell had scared the driver so badly. Arthur fell asleep just about the second he sat on his cot, before Hosea could even lay him down, leaned forward dangerously. Hosea caught him, barely. Fought off Miss Grimshaw’s attempts to get some food into either of them and decided to post up near Arthur’s head. Wasn’t going to let the man out of his sight.

Dutch ambled into Arthur’s tent near dark. Held a bowl of stew out to Hosea.

“He tell you what happened?”

“Panther, apparently, out by Blackshear Butte.”

Dutch leaned against the barrel Arthur used for his shaving kit. “What the hell was he doing all the way out there?”

Hosea shrugged, tucked into his stew. Hadn’t eaten much in the last few days and found himself finishing the whole thing without realizing it.

“Didn’t say. He’s. . . .pretty worn out.”

“I can see that.” Dutch folded his arms and watched the steady rise and fall of Arthur’s chest. First time getting a good look at him. Looked like he was lucky to survived at all. “How bad is it?”

Hosea scraped the dregs from the side of the bowl. “Think his arm’s broken, not sure about the leg. Only got him to tell us what happened, didn’t go into details. Clothes don’t look like his either. I’m sure Susan is itching to give him a once-over.”

“Should probably let her, before she takes it out on the girls.”

Arthur shifted on the bed. Brows furrowed. Hosea leaned forward, Dutch came away from the barrel to kneel next to the cot.

“You back with us, son?”

Arthur’s head turned towards Dutch, but he did not wake. Pulled in a deep breath through his nose, but nothing else after that.

Dutch sighed, stood. Behind them, Miss Grimshaw snapped at Karen about her poor sock mending. Dutch cast one last look at Arthur before calling Miss Grimshaw over.

  
  


\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

  


Nothing but dark around him. No one left in camp, all the fires burned down. Horses gone and wagons abandoned. Arthur stumbled from his tent and tried to find anyone, Marston, Pearson, Miss Grimshaw. The stewpot was empty and cold.

A low mist rolled up the cliff, thick fingers of it curling around Arthur’s legs as he spun trying to _find anyone_. The fog darkened, rose up. Yellow eyes watched him from the depths. Throat dryer than the plains at the bottom of Blackshear Butte. Heart _thump-th-thump_ ing away in his chest fit to break through his ribs and run off into the wilderness.

The eyes glowed, grew larger. Arthur stumbled backwards. The fog grabbed him harder. Parted for a broad head blacker than the night, blacker than the space between stars. Eyes level with Arthur’s, the panther stood as tall as a man, broad as a wagon. Close enough the hot breath ruffled Arthur’s hair.

The panther opened its mouth and something rotten rolled from it, the smell of dead things left to sit in the sun. Rotten and hollow and diseased. Maggots fell from beneath its tongue as it panted, scented the air.

The panther crouched and leapt for Arthur.

Arthur startled awake with a full-body jolt. He must have cried out because someone was by him immediately, hand on his forehead.

“Shhh, it’s alright, son, just a bad dream.”

Arthur tried to get his breathing under control. Hosea’s concerned face met his searching gaze. Hosea’s hand moved to his shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze. Held out a canteen. Arthur waved it off.

“Gotta piss, would you mind. . . .”

Arthur had mostly gotten over his embarrassment at having to be helped with this particular chore, but the back of his neck still burned as he leaned against the tree and could feel Hosea wait for him to finish.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Helps, sometimes.”

Arthur clumsily shoved himself back into his pants. “Just want to go back to bed.”

  
  
  


Charles found him a few days later. People had stopped bothering Arthur at all hours of the day, for the most part. Felt bad about snapping at Abigail, she was just coming to ask if Jack could visit, but it kept everyone else back. Aside from Miss Grimshaw. Arthur was sure not even God himself could keep that woman from doing anything she set her mind to.  

Charles still waited until night, close to everyone being asleep. Brought him his hat as a peace offering. “Found this out near the Butte.”

“Thank you, Charles.”

“Mind of I sit?”

Arthur never minded, but he appreciated that Charles asked. Nobody else asked. Camp was quiet around them. Arthur could hear Hosea talking over at the main campfire but couldn’t make out what he was saying. He still hadn’t told anyone what had happened on the coach. Hadn’t thought up a convincing enough lie.

“Got that look about you.”

“Just how my face is, I suppose.”

“Arthur.” Charles leaned forward. Arthur looked up from the book Mary-Beth lent him. Wasn’t really reading it anyways, just liked having something open on his lap.

He’d never seen this look on Charles—something bright and serious and a little _scared_ in his eyes. “Got that _look_ like you’ve seen something people won’t believe you saw.”

Arthur looked away first. It was late, later than he should’ve been awake, but he hadn’t been able to fall asleep today. Calliope was snugged up behind his wagon, refused to stay put by the other horses—broke the hitching post to get to him—and Dutch finally relented. _Better she stays back there than tear the camp apart trying to get to you_. Arthur expected to get scolded, but Dutch just seemed relieved to have him back. She perked her head up at Charles’ voice, ignored him when he didn’t have any treats for her.

“People didn’t believe _me_.”

That got Arthur to look at Charles again. Charles met his eyes, unblinking. “Little before I joined up. Saw . . .something.”

In the pause between them, Arthur flipped through his journal and held it open for Charles. Arthur didn’t want to watch, for once not because he didn’t like showing his drawings to people. Didn’t want to see them himself. Kept them tucked all the way in the back, on some loose sheets folded between the pages so he wouldn’t see them while flipping through the check his notes. Could throw them out without ripping the journal.

“Found me again on the road back.”

Couldn’t seem to stop drawing the thing. Hadn’t stopped seeing it, every time he closed his eyes. Followed him through his fever dreams, tore from his throat as he woke up screaming. Pretty sure the whole town of Mill Plains had heard him by the time he left.

Charles sucked in a breath. Arthur stared at his face, resolutely not looking at the pages. Charles flipped through them, another expression on his face Arthur hadn’t seen before. The man was usually as expressive as stone.

Finally, Charles folded the pages and handed them back to Arthur.

“Looked a lot like that.”

Arthur didn’t like the implication. “Know what it is?”

“No.”

Arthur stared at his lap. His left arm didn’t hurt so much, but it still twinged when he curled his fingers into a fist. Winced and relaxed it. “Did . . . did you hear it?”

“Yeah. Thought I was dying.”

“Calliope kicked it. Don’t remember much after that. Some woman found me in the road the next morning.”

“Did it touch you at all?”

“No, panther really did do all this to me.” Arthur gestured vaguely at himself. Felt a little silly with the quilt draped over his legs. Strict orders not to wear any shoes, but the camp women had conspired to knit him several sets of wool socks. Almost worse than the pile of pillows from the last time he was laid up. Arthur fiddled with the strap of his journal. Tucked it under his pillow along with Mary-Beth’s book.

“I’m scared it’s gonna find me here.”

“Think it only goes after people when they’re alone.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

Charles shrugged. “You’re not alone right now.”

“Ain’t gonna be in camp forever.”

Another shrug. “If it helps, I only saw it twice, few days after the first time. Still dream about it, sometimes.”

“That ain’t reassuring either, Charles.”

“Well.”

“Yup.”

Charles stood. “You can tell me more about it later. I should let you sleep.”

Calliope gave Charles one last hopeful whinny. Arthur shushed her and held out a peppermint. Really was spoiling her, now, with nothing better to do and stuck in bed.

Arthur watched Charles disappear into the dark of camp. Closed his eyes, but sleep never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant for this to be a oneshot. Woops. Also meant for this "series" to be more lighthearted, but think it'll just be a mix of "Calliope does cute things" and "Calliope and Arthur try not to die whenever they leave camp." Not sure I'll revisit this particular monster again, wasn't really basing it off anything.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments give me life. 
> 
> come find me on tumblr @barbarosabeee
> 
> Instagram/PSN: barbarosabee

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact. Because I actually looked it up. There is no difference between a black panther and another color panther, just melanistic and albino versions of the same big cat.
> 
> Kudos and comments bring me such joy, seriously y'all's comments always give me a huge grin, thank you!


End file.
